Unfamiliar Territory
by LittlePippin76
Summary: My first, and probably my only attempt at Slash. It's a one shot. This is in no way connected to any other fanfic I have written. Please don't be offended by me having had a go at this; it's an experiment. Repeat; slash. I'm aware I may regret this.


**Unfamiliar Territory**

**SLASH and EXPLICIT(ish). M rated for a reason.**

**My general rule is that I won't write slash. I've prattled inanely in the brief time that I've been writing FanFic about having no moral problem with it; I just don't think I can, but I also have to admit that I've never actually tried. I also have to admit that sometimes it's necessary to break your own self imposed 'general rules'.**

**This is intended as a one-shot, and is completely and utterly unrelated to any of my other stories.**

**If you do not like slash, please, please do not read this story! Please be assured that there will be no slash in Scarlet's story if you're already following that, and there's unlikely to be in any future stories. If you're either a slash fan, or you have no strong opinions either way, I'd very much like feedback on this.**

**Disclaimer; these characters aren't mine; and I'm not 100% sure I should be doing this with them.**

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**John wasn't entirely sure how they'd got to where they were. There had been a case, successfully concluded. There had been the journey back to the flat, full of laughter and joking, so that they could diffuse their most recent brush with the unpleasant side of humanity. There had been too much adrenalin to go to sleep so there had been more laughter, conversation, relaxed bodies. There had been heat. It had been palpable between them and they'd allowed it to take over.

They'd both allowed it to happen, John was sure of it. There had been heat between them before, but it was usually defused by John going for a walk, or Sherlock starting an experiment. But this time they hadn't. Perhaps they'd both become tired of dancing around it. Perhaps they'd suddenly, at some point he couldn't put his finger on, moved to a point where they trusted each other enough to take the risk. Perhaps it was just because it was simply too late for a walk or to start an experiment.

Sherlock had taken hold of John's right hand and traced the line of his Ulnar Artery up his forearm, showing the route the murderer's knife had taken over the victims. By the time he'd reached the Brachial Artery, just over the elbow he'd stopped talking. When he reached the Axillary Artery in the upper arm, John kissed him. Quite suddenly, quite unexpectedly, and quite imprecisely; the kiss had ended up somewhere in Sherlock's eyebrow. Before he could apologise, Sherlock had taken hold of his upper arms and was kissing his chin. He quickly and eagerly worked upwards to kiss John's mouth and John had let him. In fact, he'd kissed back.

Sherlock hadn't spoken, preferring to continue peppering John's face with brief kisses while he deftly undressed him and pulled him into his room. If John tried to speak, Sherlock would plant a new kiss over his mouth, and John would stop, focusing instead on Sherlock's tongue and lips and teeth. Sherlock pushed him gently onto the bed, stripping off his own shirt, and he quickly unfastened and removed John's trousers and shorts. The physical distance between them while this happened felt cold and unfamiliar. John frowned as he lay back.

"Don't think." Sherlock told him, quietly. "This only works as long as you don't think."

John briefly registered the worried look in Sherlock's eyes before he obeyed the instruction and pulled Sherlock's body down to meet his.

So there he was; kissing Sherlock's collarbone, and down over his chest. Touching him with his tongue, teasing him with his teeth. In response, Sherlock's hands were all over John's body, tracing round his muscles, exploring him with his long, dexterous and supple fingers. He was thorough, he didn't hold back from any line of enquiry, but he was extremely gentle.

John's consciousness surfaced for a moment, and he wondered what on Earth he was doing there. This wasn't right; this certainly wasn't sensible. This would be a problem in the morning.

"Don't think." Sherlock spoke softly into his ear. "Don't think..."

Sherlock nuzzled the top of John's head, and John felt his hot breath through his hair. The warmth of it was immediately relaxing. John breathed long and deep as if he was under hypnosis. He went back to his kisses with added fervour.

Sherlock's fingers started working again, following the line of John's hips and pulling him in close to him. John stopped clinging to Sherlock and let his hands move downwards, to remove Sherlock's trousers. Sherlock was suddenly tense. He pushed away from John. John froze.

"Sorry." Said Sherlock. "Sorry. No."

He pushed himself up from the bed and walked from the room. John listened to his footsteps as he walked downstairs. He lay back on Sherlock's bed feeling bewildered, uncertain, and more than a little disappointed. He sighed deeply and rubbed his face with his hands, wondering what he ought to do next. One very tempting option was to slink into his room, set his alarm for an early wake up, then to pack up and clear out before Sherlock could see him again. But that felt cowardly and wrong. Another part of him wanted to go and smack Sherlock across his smug, beautiful face, then to continue kissing and taking him. But that felt shameful and wrong. One thing was clear; this was Sherlock's room and he couldn't continue lying in here all night in the vain hope that Sherlock would come back.

He sighed and routed around for his shorts which he couldn't find, then settled for putting on just his jeans and going downstairs. He picked up his t-shirt from where it had landed half way down the stairs and flung it over his shoulder. He went into the lounge to see Sherlock, perched on his armchair, with his knees pulled up under his chin. He'd found himself a t-shirt from somewhere and was wearing it with this suit trousers which looked ridiculously incongruous. His arms were wrapped protectively around his legs. He looked upset and thoughtful, but didn't look up when John came in and this made John angry. This was a man who was pulling him into his body half an hour ago, and now it seemed he'd prefer it if he was invisible.

He refused to stop existing just to ease Sherlock's mind, and instead he went to sit in his own armchair opposite Sherlock, just feet away from him. He folded his arms over his chest and stared at him.

Sherlock's eyes flickered up to him. "I told you not to think." He said.

"What?" John's confusion deepened, and his anger deepened with it.

"I told you," Sherlock said, his eyes staring at John, "not to think. It doesn't work if you start to think about it."

"I wasn't thinking." John told him. "I can assure you that at no point was I thinking of anything. Not a single conscious thought crossed my mind."

"How!" Sherlock demanded. "How is that even possible when you have so much to think about! Are you stupid?"

"What?" John asked again. "What the hell? How dare you!"

"How dare I? I'm _protecting _you, John! You were acting stupidly; I am your flatmate, so you'll be homeless if everything goes wrong, I am a sociopath, so it _will _go wrong, and you're straight, and at some point you're bound to notice that I am male."

"I never said I was straight." John told him.

"Of course you are. I'm fairly certain I would have noticed if you're not." Sherlock told him.

"Yeah, well, you're the sort of person to judge someone's sexuality based on what underwear they're wearing, so actually I don't think you're so much of an expert to be honest."

Sherlock looked at him. "You think you're bi?" he asked.

"No, I just don't see the point in pigeon-holing myself." John told him. "If I'm attracted to someone I'm attracted to someone. There's no point in getting hung up on gender any more than there is on colour or height or what profession the person is."

"So how many men have you been attracted to?" Sherlock challenged him.

"Up until now?" John rose to the challenge. "One." He looked squarely into Sherlock's eyes.

"So, not your type then, don't you think?" Sherlock spat.

"Yes, absolutely, Sherlock!" John snapped, angry again. "I'm clearly not attracted to you, there's no part of me that was responding to you at all, and I'm in no way cross because I thought I was going to be getting some sex and now I'm not!" He blushed on hearing his own words, and rubbed his face for a moment.

Sherlock looked at John for a long time. Finally he shook his head. "No." He told him. "It isn't going to work; eventually you'll become disheartened, you'll struggle with the fact that I won't give you priority, and I _won't_ give you priority. You'll want more from me than I'm able to give, you'll get angry and you'll walk away."

"Is that what usually happens?" John asked him.

"It's what would happen." Sherlock responded. "It never ends well."

"And this is a theory you've tested, is it?" John pushed him.

"Yes. It's tested. I am _me_ and people leave."

"Well, I'm sure they do if you share these little epiphanies half way through sex." John said to him.

"I wasn't..." Sherlock started.

"You _were_." John told him. "Sherlock; you have drives and urges like everyone else. It's up to you whether you squash them down or not, but don't put it all on me. Because from what you're saying, all I'm hearing is that you don't want to have sex for fear of getting hurt. Isn't that about the sum of it?"

"No, no, John! You've got it the wrong way round. I don't want to engage in sex because I won't live up to your expectations. When I fail you, you will be hurt and angry. I'll be angry too, because I don't like failing, but I don't want you to be hurt in the process."

"OK, well, thanks for looking out for me." John said, frankly. "Thought to be quite honest, Sherlock, I'm quite capable of making these choices for myself. Really, it's up to me who I do or don't sleep with."

"Well it's not if the other person is me." Sherlock pointed out.

"No, it's still my choice." John replied. "It's your choice whether to sleep with me or not. If you choose not to have mad, wild, passionate sex with me then it needs to be because you don't want it for your own sake. I don't need you protecting me from anyone; I can decide for myself."

"But you'll make the wrong decision." Sherlock told him. "You'll be driven by hormones and not logic, and it will lead to all the consequences I've listed."

"But you _told_ me not to think about it." John pointed out. "You seemed to want me to be completely devoid of logic."

"Yes, but I was wrong. My hypothesis was based on the idea that if I could prevent you from over-thinking the act, then all would be well. It's a good theory, but it would of course be depended on you never thinking again, giving up any use of your brain and acting entirely on impulse. It's a nice, convenient idea, but unfortunately I don't think it's practical. At some point you're bound to start thinking again and that would ruin everything."

"Well, yes." John said. He gave Sherlock a half smile. "Though I do think it needs pointing out that the problem isn't _me_ over-thinking."

Sherlock glowered.

"OK." John said, getting up and stretching. "I'm tired, and I think I've talked about enough about sex for a lifetime. I'm going to bed. The one thing I do want to know though, is whether you really stopped because you think it's not a good idea for _me_, or whether it's because you don't want it for you?"

He watched as Sherlock absorbed and digested the question.

"It's not easy to say while you're standing there like that." Sherlock answered.

"Like what?" John asked.

"Like that." Sherlock vaguely gestured towards John's bare chest. "Put your t-shirt on for goodness sake. And stop... leaning."

John smiled, but put his t-shirt on.

Sherlock looked at him. "No, that's worse; take it off again."

"I'm not going to strip on your command, Sherlock. Can I take it from this that you are interested after all, for your own sake?"

There was a long pause during which Sherlock appeared to be wrestling with his own thoughts.

"No." Sherlock said, softly and calmly. "No, I don't want it for me." Sherlock finally answered, slowly.

John sighed. "Fair enough." He said. He again found he was disappointed.

"No." Said Sherlock.

"'No' what?" John asked him.

"No, it's not 'fair enough'. It isn't."

John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Well, it is what it is, anyway. Please rest easy with the fact that I'm not going to jump on you, that this was a strange moment in time, but it's over and we'll both forget about it soon enough." He turned to go to bed wondering if there was any truth at all in that statement.

"Wait!" Sherlock said, standing up and catching him by the arm. He looked at him urgently. "John, I can't stop it. I can't not think, ever! I can't help but let my brain over-rule everything."

John didn't know what to say to this extraordinary outburst, but he was concerned about the level of distress in Sherlock's eyes. He nodded at him and waited.

Sherlock stared at him for a moment, and John could see him summoning every ounce of courage and honesty he had. "Generally my body wants you, but my brain can keep it under control. My brain knows that it's a stupid idea."

"But your brain's based that on past situations where you've randomly started analysing people and relationships in the middle of intercourse."

"Well, yes."

"Well, people don't like that. I can see why they leave."

"You're still here." Sherlock said to him.

"Yes. Well; I know you." John said.

Sherlock closed his eyes and groaned. "Yes you do. Yes you do and you don't leave even when I'm stupid. I don't think it's worth losing that just for sex."

"Oh." John said softly, thinking about this. "But you don't know that I'll leave." He pointed out. "You're basing it on a guess."

"I don't guess."

"Yes you do. I'm still here, aren't I? At three o'clock in the bloody morning having the strangest conversation I've ever had. Hell, Sherlock, I don't think I want you any more either right now."

Sherlock released John's arm as if he'd been electrocuted by it. "Oh!" was all he could say.

"No, Sherlock, I'm sorry! I didn't mean that." John said, going after him. "I'm not rejecting you. Just calm down." He held him by his upper arms, forcing Sherlock to look at him and accept his apology. "Calm down."

"I can't." Sherlock said to him. "I can't stop thinking, John. Ever."

John looked at him for a long time. "OK." He said. "Let me ask you another question. Do you trust me?"

Sherlock frowned. "What? Of course I do."

"So you trust me, to make my own choices? You know that I know what you're like, and you trust me to take that into consideration while deciding on my next, and any future actions."

"Maybe." Sherlock said, quietly.

"Maybe?" John smiled at him. "It's yes or no; you trust me to know my own mind, or you don't."

"OK." Sherlock said, though his eyes were worried again. "Let's say 'yes'."

"OK." Said John. "So we've resolved all the problems you've listed apart from the fact that you can't stop thinking."

"It's a big problem." Sherlock said quietly.

"Well, would you like us to go and try to get you to stop thinking for a while?" John asked quietly, with a smile.

John would remember the look on Sherlock's face for the rest of his life. He seemed unable to speak, as if he was willing his mouth not to say the wrong thing. He seemed at once terrified of the idea of putting his faith in anything other from his own brilliant brain, but at the same time there was a desperate eagerness to do just that. He nodded, slightly.

"Are you sure?" John asked him gently.

The nod was more certain this time. He breathed in and whispered; "Oh God, yes."

John took him firmly by the hand and led him back upstairs to his bedroom.

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**There we go. My one attempt at Slash fic. **


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